


Sugar Burn

by Mercia



Series: Femslash February 2019 [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Kissing, F/F, Femslash February, First Kiss, Getting Together, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Partying, Pining, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercia/pseuds/Mercia
Summary: For Val_Creative: Narcissa/LilyDisgraceful,she thinks in a voice which sounds viciously like her mother's.Utterly disgraceful.  Worse than Andromeda.





	Sugar Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing requested by Val_Creative  
> Thank you for the request. It was fun to write:D

Narcissa Black is proud. But she is also honest enough with herself to admit she is prone to some occasional fits of jealousy. She is not above jealousy — no one is — even if she is a Black, and they are above most things. 

Most people, even.

Narcissa isn't sure why she's here, at some dirty, drunken rave at the Three Broomsticks. There are no other Slytherins, save a few that should really be watching their backs, and all she can see are stupid, noisy Gryffindors. There are probably some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too, but the Lions always manage take up the most room, somehow. Narcissa isn't sure why she's here; it's dark out, way past curfew, she's alone, and it's not  _ safe  _ anymore (well, not for the others anyway.)

But she’s still smarting from Andromeda running off with that stupid muggleborn, from her big sister choosing a silly  _ boy _ over her own sisters, to care. And really, she could do with a drink away from the rest of Slytherin, because they all want to know “What's Andy up to, these days?”

But Andy has chosen her side.

Cissy grabs a bottle of Firewhisky off the nearest table at random and takes a large gulp. The liquid licks flames down her throat, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She uses a fist to hide her coughs, even though nobody seems to be paying attention, but takes another sip anyway. 

It's addictive, the burn.

The party is very much below her, but Narcissa watches the crowd anyway, dancing to tunes from Warbling Warlocks and Siren Song and a few she doesn't recognise at all. She grimaces. They must be muggle then.

Despite it all, she feels her head nodding along a bit, and for once, she can't bring herself to correct it. 

Narcissa is a proud, noble, elite pureblood — a Black — and not easily jealous; and Lily Evans is ungraceful and loud and brash, and not even a proper witch. But she also has glitter on her cheeks and in her messy red hair, and her green eyes are as bright at the neon light crystals pulsing along with the music, vivid and alight, and she is jumping and screaming to the music with such wild abandon, and there is this big, wide smile on her face. She looks free.

And, loathe she is to admit it, beautiful. 

Narcissa takes another drink, letting the sharp heat distract her.

It's not the first time she's noticed the girl. Always so bloody eager to prove herself in class, knowing the answers without even opening the book. Always arguing with Narcissa's idiotic cousin and the rest of his silly friends. Has half the castle mooning over her, even though she’s not supposed to belong here. 

And Narcissa gets the appeal, she really does. 

Looking at Lily Evans is like looking at the moon, even when you know it will be gone in a few hours. Or holding a lit matchstick and entertaining the idea of burning it down to your fingers, even though you never really do. Or lots of other things.

Something that you may look at, and not touch, and that you remember cannot last. At least not for Cissy. 

It's just the way of things, after all. (Look at Andy.)

Somewhere between finishing the bottle and getting out of this godforsaken place, she loses sight of Lily Evans. And even though she knew she would, and knows it doesn't matter, Narcissa still let's a sigh escape her. 

Outside is cold, a little windy, and the air has this fresh wet tinge to it because it was raining earlier in the day, there are puddles and dips and little droplets of water everywhere. But the sky is clear, and the expanse of darkness, stretching further and further, is littered heavy with stars. So many of them — too many of them. Narcissa has never liked uncountable things. 

And sure enough, sitting on one one the benches placed outside, despite the water gathered on it, is Lily Evans. Leaned back against the wall. Eyes raised and looking out at the stars, somehow both full of silent awe and defiance. There's a cigarette of some sort in her hand too.

And then her gaze drifts away and meets Narcissa's, and slowly, she smiles again, and holds up the smoke as if to offer.

“That's a disgusting habit,” Narcissa snaps before she can help herself, bristling. Even though, really, she doesn't care. 

The girl just shrugs and keeps smiling. “I guess,” she says, and takes another drag out of it and drops it, just like that. “Okay. Happy now?”

It's too cold, and her robes are too thin, and for some reason she can't for the life of her remember how to cast a warming charm. And for some reason, Lily Evans, the muggle born, just lounging there without single care and free to do as she pleases and smoke and smile her stupid, wasteful days away stings Narcissa with something sour and twisting

Who is she to have that kind of carefree when she is the one who shouldn't belong, when she should be the one who leaves the stupid party. How come she gets to feel  _ alive _ ?

“I don't care,” she hisses, gritting her teeth. “I don't care. I don't care. Do what you like Evans— what do I care if you lay yourself to waste? I  _ don't _ .”

It's a lie, though, Narcissa is self aware enough to know this. And for some reason that makes it even worse. 

Lily Evans is still staring at her though, looking curious this time, and quite amused. This time she offers out her hand.

And Narcissa must have drunk more Firewhisky than she thought because she accepts.

Lily Evans pulls her down on her lap, ridiculously close even though they've hardly spoken before at all, in all their years at Hogwarts, arms wrapped around her waist. And, surprisingly, Narcissa doesn't mind it as much as she might have thought — not that she has, thought about it, that is. Something about it is strangely kind of nice. 

It's warmer than just standing out in the cold, and she doesn't have to sit on the damp bench and it's… comfortable. 

Narcissa tries not to squirm.

_ Disgraceful,  _ she thinks in a voice which sounds viciously like her mother's. _ Utterly disgraceful.  Worse than Andromeda. _

“Black?” says Lily. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“ _ What _ ?” 

“I mean, you look nice. Can I kiss you?” she says, utterly shameless. 

It's a bad, silly, stupid, shameful thing to do. But at the moment, Cissy can't seem to bring herself to care at all about what's shameful or not. And what would Lily Evans know, or care, for shame anyway?

“Merlin's beard,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “Fine. Why not?”

_ Fuck you Andy. _

And Lily Evans meets her eyes again, shockingly green still, perhaps even more so, against the night, and Narcissa most looks away(but she doesn't), and smiles. And then Narcisa feels soft lips over her own, and tastes the spice of the Firewhisky and overly sweet butterbeer and whatever dreadful things that were in her smoke. And all of it, like the flames from her drink before, is both a little intoxicating and a little more addictive. 

She should leave, obliviate Evans and then herself and run back to the castle, or  _ something _ , but for some reason she doesn't. She doesn't want to, and usually what Cissy wants beyond Dinner and a new dress doesn't matter, but right now it feels like it does.

Lily Evans pulls away first and grins at her. Narcissa stares down at her, still very much on her lap, not quite sure what to do with herself. 

“I'll walk you back to the castle,” she says, gently pushing Cissy back on her two feet, and she tries not to stumble and tries to look at least somewhat miffed at the situation. 

“Whatever,” she replies, and crosses her arms, even though she's fully aware of the blush dusting her cheeks. “ Do what you like. I don't particularly care.”

“I'm sure you don't,” laughs Evans, and it's hard not to laugh back or at least smile. Narcissa has to bite her lip. “Unless you're saying no, I'm doing it.” 

Narcissa Black is proud, and as as a Black, she is above a lot of things. And maybe it's the Firewhisky taking away her good senses, but she doesn't think she's above this. Not really.

She lets slip a smile and nods and Lily Evans’ hand is warm and soft when she holds it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Don't hesitate to send more requests on here or Tumblr. (@mercialachesis)


End file.
